Life Through The Eyes Of A Dominique Weasley
by CanonCannon
Summary: One of the most important things to know about me, is that I, Dominique Weasley, am not a morning person. So do not wake me up at the crack of dawn by peeling off my duvet and hitting me over the head with a pillow and expect me to be a ball of sunshine, because I won't be.
1. I am not a Morning Person

ㇴ0** So recently I've been having a Dominique Weasley phase, so I decided to dedicate a whole fanfiction story to her!**ㇱ5ㇱ1

**I hope you like it!** ㇰ9ㇰ9ㇰ9ㇱ0ㇱ0

**BTW: I wrote this really quickly so there might be a few errors! Ooopsies! ㈍9**

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One of the most important things to know about me, is that I, Dominique Weasley, am not a morning person.

So do not wake me up at the crack of dawn by peeling off my duvet and hitting me over the head with a pillow and expect me to be a ball of sunshine, because I won't be.

Louis has known me all his life, and despite the fact he knows I despise mornings, he still persists to waking me up using that method.

Every. Single. Morning.

But today is a different morning, as today is the first of September, and I'm going back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for my Sixth Year.

Ever since I started Hogwarts I wished I was in Sixth Year, partially because of my sister Victoire.

Okay, purely because of my sister Victoire.

She's two years older than me, and is the perfect example of the perfect daughter. Why wouldn't she be? She's got the looks, the brains, the talents, the loving, caring, kind persona and a polished reputation.

Ever since I first got to Hogwarts, I've been labelled as "Victoire's little sister". Everyone loves Victoire, students and Professors alike, and expect me to achieve the same extraordinary things as her, which is nearly impossible to do, and I always seem to fall at the last hurdle.

But she graduated last year, so this is my first year free of her, and I fully intend to make my next couple of years _unforgettable_.

I can only feel sorry for the Headmaster.

.:.:.~*~.:.:.

Grudgingly, I trudge from my room in the attic down two flights of stairs to the kitchen.

I love my house; it's called Shell Cottage and it's on the outskirts of Tinworth in Cornwall. It's on a beach that is forever low tide, with sandy beach guaranteed all year round.

The building itself was built with real shells in the cement walls (hence the name Shell Cottage) and shells covering the exterior walls and roof. It's a two storey building with windows popping up in odd places and a pair of too-tall chimneys at either side of the cottage.

When Louis was born, Maman and Dad changed the once dark and damp windows and had some nice, well, cottage-y windows put in, that made Shell Cottage much lighter. They also changed the front door from its creaky and croaky state into a nice welcoming door with a small window that has a swirled effect.

I like that window.

I like it a lot.

Coming down the stairs I take an immediate right into the kitchen. It's nice, not horrible clean black-and-white linear kitchens like some Muggles have nowadays, but wooden and mismatched and _rustic_, which makes it more unique and special.

Maman, Dad, Victoire and Louis are all already down and being chipper, which I just could not understand because it was so _early_.

"Morning Dominique!" Maman calls, placing a large plate in front of me full of bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, mushrooms and toast.

Until now, I hadn't given food a second thought (okay, that's a lie; food is life, but at seven in the morning, the only thing on my mind is how tired I am) but now my stomachs growling and the smell of bacon just makes my mouth water.

Victoire waltzes over and gingerly puts a glass of ice-cold pumpkin juice before me, Louis wipes some egg off the side of his face with the back of his hand and yawns, Maman turns off the appliances and takes a bite of toast, and Dad flicks through the morning's _Daily Prophet_.

For the Weasley-Delacour family, it's a pretty average morning.

After I finish breakfast, I make the hike back up to the loft to get ready for the inevitably long day ahead. As much as I love the Hogwarts Express, there are moments when I just want to s-l-e-e-p and the scenery rolls on forever.

Another important thing to know about me is that I hate long journeys, especially in France.

Every summer my parents take us to the middle of nowhere in France the "Muggle way", i.e. by car. With me, Victoire and Louis in the back, I'm always nominated by my dear siblings to sit in the middle (because I'm the middle child, which is their excuse for everything), so I can never fall asleep or in any way be comfortable, and if I do fall asleep, when I wake up and look out the window, the long stretch of vineyards is _still_ outside and it just makes me feel a thousand years older.

It's torture, honestly.

Moving on from my hatred of long journeys and back to the present.

My room is not too bad, actually.

Up until the age of 9, I had to share a room with Victoire on the first floor, which was agony.

We each had a single bed each, pushed into the opposite corners of the room, and all her stuff got everywhere and on my side of the room.

After four years of both Victoire and I moaning, our parents painted half the room a pale green (my side of course), and half the room a pale pink (obviously Victoire), so that me and Victoire both had our own side. Our floor had originally been oak floorboards, but Victoire wanted a horrid white fluffy carpet, so being the absolute _princess_ she is, half the room was then covered in what looked like a dead polar bear.

But then when Victoire started Hogwarts, she simply needed her own room for all her new stuff, so my parents made the loft into a habitable space and shoved me and Victoire up there.

So now that's the guest bedroom.

We have separate rooms now, thank Merlin, but we still need to share the same bathroom which is hell, as she spends at least two hours in there at a time.

"Victoire get out!" I yell, banging on the door. "You're not even going to Kings Cross today so what's the point?" The sound of running waters stops and I hear her padding around in there for a good few minutes before she opened the door, letting out a huge amount of steam, before turning into her bedroom.

I have one of these things, that whenever I shower, I have to wash my hair.

I don't know why, it causes a terrible faff really, but it's one of my pet peeves. I just can't stand _not _washing it.

So, after I've washed and conditioned my hair, which only took around ten minutes, I wrap my body in a towel and creep across the landing to my bedroom, which is in the western half of the loft, which is useful, because it means I don't get woken up early by the sun rise.

Last year, I used to be really insecure about my body. I mean, I was a teenage girl, in a society where you have to look a certain way, act a certain way, and_ be_ a certain way.

I was on the verge of being anorexic, but luckily my Dad noticed during the Easter holidays that I was barely eating and was becoming thinner and thinner, and confronted me, because something is seriously wrong when I don't eat. As said before, food = life.

He'd never been in my position, so he couldn't give me that kind of sympathy, but he's incredibly empathetic and really pulled me out of the hole I dug myself.

I'm still thin now, but I've worked all summer to get fitter, and whilst eating a lot, eating healthily.

Of course, my body is nowhere near perfect. I'm still scarily thin, although more toned now, with a thigh gap and a small waist, but I've really come back from last year.

I've never been insecure about my face though, because I'm part Veela, so there are certain things I don't need to worry about, like having perfect skin – it comes naturally, or having hair in weird places – Veela's only grow hair on their head, eyebrows, in their nose and in their ears, and very few down south.

I have wide eyes that are a pale green, but can look blue in some light, quite thick eyebrows (think Cara Delevingne), plump pink lips and straight, waist length dark blonde hair. Not to mention I have quite pronounced cheekbones, which add an element of grace to my features that I don't have in my personality.

I look quite a lot like Cara Delevingne actually, but I also look like Dianna Agron. Lucy has a theory that if you had Cara and Dianna crossed, you get me, except I have a few freckles on the tip of my nose.

Anyway, so I decide to dress casual, as I get changed on the train so there isn't any point putting on my robes now.

I pull on some high waist jeans (every year I go with Lily and Rose shopping in Muggle London with Hermione. We all have our favourite shops. Lily adores Urban Outfitters, Rose loves River Island and I practically worship Topshop. The amount of stuff I have from there is unreal.), a grey t-shirt, a baggy Gryffindor Jersey that used to be my Uncle Charlie's, but he was in the same house as I am now, it doesn't make much of a difference, and some frilly socks and shoes.

I put a detangling and drying charm on my hair (Victoire got me a book full of magical beauty spells for my last Birthday, August 12th) before applying some moisturizer that not only softens skin, but reduces the size of pores and evens skin tone. It's a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes beauty product that Roxy and I helped create.

I throw some last minute stuff into my trunk and hand luggage and prepare for the downhill struggle.

.:.:.~*~.:.:.

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**Thanks for reading! **㈎2㈎2

**Don't worry, I will be including some of the other Potter-Weasley kids in the next chapter, and a happy writer, writes faster...**㈴2

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	2. Calm your corkscrews!

**HELLO MY KNEAZLES I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO UPLOAD!**

**and I'm also so sorry this chapter is quite short but I didn't want to make it too long and overpowering because idk I personally find it annoying.**

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The hustle and bustle of the Muggle station makes this seemingly simple task, nearly impossible, but against all odds, Dad, Louis and I make it to the barrier.

Whilst some students hate running into the barrier, like Hugo for example; after the story about his Dad and Uncle Harry actually running into the brick wall, I absolutely love the thrill of potentially getting a concussion. It's weird, but I love the rush when you do possibly dangerous things.

I quickly look around to make sure no Muggles are watching, before running at full speed into the solid brick wall, well what looked like a solid brick wall.

There is nothing for me, more magical then the sensation I get coming through to Platform 9 ¾ ; seeing the friendly and albeit dirty pavement, littered with Drooble's Best Chewing Gum wrappers and Chocolate Frog cartons, squashed and trodden into the ground.

But the real factor that takes my breath away each and every time, is the Hogwarts Express.

The scarlet steam engine with smooth, elegant curves, puffing out dark grey clouds with windows glinting, is a sight so special and close to my heart, as poetic and cheesy as that sounds.

It's like the owl with my Quidditch Captain badge, you know? It always whisks me away to the best times, and I always get that emotional rush seeing it at the Platform.

As I'm soaking this spectacular view in, I am tackled from behind into a hug from Roxy, who I last saw about a week ago. In all honesty, she is the biggest bundle of energy that just explodes with enthusiasm.

"Merlin Roxy, calm your corkscrews!" I say, pulling on one of her ringlets and watching it ping back into place. She rolls her coffee-coloured eyes.

We help each other stack our trunks, as we always do, and just as we're finished loading my truck, I see familiar faces appear from through the barrier.

The Longbottom's have always been close with our family, because of Neville Longbottom's long lasting friendship with my Uncles Ron and Harry, and Aunts Hermione and Ginny.

Neville is the Headmaster at Hogwarts, but because he is very committed to his family, he resides in the apartment above the Three Broomsticks, even though all three of his children live at Hogwarts. Despite living so close to Hogwarts, the Longbottom's always go to Platform 9 ¾, because it is part of being a student at Hogwarts for them.

In the summer, they live in a large house in Kingsand, which is a small Cornish fishing village that has won a Muggle award for 'Best Kept Village', which basically means it's very nice and pretty.

As I spend a great amount of time there, I've become much attached to its clock tower and pebbled beach.

Augustus is my guy-best friend. We've been best friends since I can remember, and though it is clichéd, he has always been there for me. Even though we don't hang out with the same people most of the time, and we can go a week or so without seeing each other, we are still as close as people who spend twenty four hours a day with one another.

During the summer, we practically live at each other's houses; we spend so much time together. We go for bike rides along the country lanes in Kingsand, go swimming in the sea in Tinworth, have movie nights over at his, and bake cakes and whatnot at mine.

He's in Hufflepuff like his siblings, Frank and Alice, and like his Mum was before him.

Next to his family, he looks like he's adopted, really.

His mother, Hannah, and twin sister Alice have tan skin and long, blonde hair and dimples. His father, Neville, has skin that isn't quite pale, and isn't quite tanned, and has sandy brown hair that is starting to go grey and grey eyes. The eldest child, Frank, has brown hair, just a few shades darker that his fathers, Neville's skin and his mother's chocolate brown eyes.

But Augustus has dark, mahogany hair, pale skin dotted with freckles and electric blue eyes. His cheekbones are sharp and he has a very prominent jaw line.

Obviously he is eye candy for the girls, and even I can't deny his good looks, but I'm one of the few people that know that he is more than just a pretty face.

I don't need to call him over, I never need to call him over; I think it's a manual thing for him now, to come to me.

"Miss me?" He drawled, in his deep voice, smirking. It's a wonder he's not in Slytherin.

"Undeniably," I retort, my voice dripping in sarcasm. It's a wonder I'm not in Slytherin.

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